


Isolation

by cestlestialbeings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has Abandonment Issues, Drunk Sex, Full House of Wincest, Hook-Up, Implied Dean Winchester/John Winchester - Freeform, Implied Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Lonely Dean Winchester, M/M, Stanford Era (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:08:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28554393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cestlestialbeings/pseuds/cestlestialbeings
Summary: Sam left him, and Dad left him. He's lonely and he has no one left to make him feel wanted, so he finds a stranger to substitute.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/John Winchester, Dean Winchester/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 32





	Isolation

It’s ten P.M. and Dean is staring at the motel ceiling trying to get some sleep. He’s got another hunt to get to tomorrow, one that Dad found for him. Normally they hunt together, but Dad’s been sending him on separate hunts, almost as far across the country from himself as he could get.

Dean rolls over and rests his hand on the cold pillow next to him. It’s been two months. Two months since Sam left. A little less since Dad left, too. Dean’s been alone since, and he hates it.

He’s never been alone, not for long. He’s always had someone to share his bed with—Sam, when Dad was gone, or Dad when they’d left Sam behind to go on a hunt. He’s always had someone to touch him and make him feel wanted and safe and part of something, part of a family.

He doesn’t feel wanted now. Sam and Dad don’t need him, not the way he needs them.

He sits up in bed. He’s not going to sleep like this, drowning in isolation. He needs someone, even if it can’t be Sam or Dad.

* * *

Dean sits at the bar, sipping a beer as he looks around the room. It’s a gay bar; really not the type of place Dean is used to, but he’s looking for a specific type of guy, and trying to pick a guy up in the type of dive he prefers would probably get him beaten up.

He’s already a few shots in. Not enough to soothe his loneliness, but enough to make bad choices seem reasonable. And there, across the bar, chatting with a friend—a guy almost twice Dean’s age. Tall, dark, and handsome, with a rugged appearance to him: stubble, denim shirt, frayed jeans, boots. He looks like—

Dean downs the rest of his beer and stands. His head feels light as he gets to his feet, the room around him warm. He makes his way over to the man.

“Hey,” he says. He smiles, and bites his lip, feigning shyness. He knows from experience that it gives off just the right amount of pretty-boy energy to attract the men he wants, men like this.

Dean gets straight to the point, and twenty minutes later they’re at the guy’s place. The man had introduced himself but the name went straight out of Dean’s head the second he’d heard it, and he didn’t care enough to ask again.

They kiss all the way to the man’s room, layers of clothes coming off the whole way. The man doesn’t taste the same, he doesn’t smell the same, but when Dean runs his hands through the man’s chest hair, up his neck and to his stubbled jaw, he feels a wave of comfort like he hasn’t felt in months. This is a stranger but the way he _feels_ is familiar, and if Dean keeps his eyes shut, he can pretend it’s someone else, the person he really wants to be with right now. He’s just drunk enough to lose himself in this, to not overthink what he’s doing.

When they reach the man’s room, Dean lies on the bed on his stomach and lifts his ass up as the man puts on a condom, lubes up. It hurts, at first, when the man slides into him, and then transforms into a painful pleasure that makes Dean gasp.

He’s too slow at first, too soft. “Harder,” Dean commands, and the man obliges, gripping tighter on Dean’s hips and thrusting in harder and faster. Dean knows the man’s fingers are going to leave bruises, but he doesn’t mind. Dad is like this sometimes, after they’ve been on a rough hunt and both had a little too much to drink. Dean likes being marked. Passionate bruises from Dad, or bite marks from Sammy. It lets him know, at least until the marks fade, that he’s theirs, even when they’re apart.

Dean jerks himself off slowly during, and then comes, inhaling sharply. “Dad,” he moans, as he spills onto the sheets below him. The man pauses for a moment at hearing the word fall from Dean’s lips, but it doesn’t seem to deter him too much. He continues after a moment, rocking in and out of Dean, and Dean grips the sheets tightly in his fists as the pleasure is almost overwhelming.

The man comes shortly after and rolls off and to the side, breathing heavy.

Dean knows what should come next. _My boy_ , as Dad strokes his face. _My beautiful boy._ And Dean would be filled with giddy excitement as he met Dad’s eyes, seeing the pride and love there that Dean rarely got to see in any other context.

But this isn’t Dad, Dean is sharply reminded when the man cleans them both up and crawls back into bed, falling asleep almost immediately, on the opposite side of the bed and not within reach of Dean. He doesn’t wrap his arms around Dean and hold him close, safe within the circle of his arms, the way Dad does.

Dean feels bile rise in the back of his throat. He thought this would help. He thought it would comfort him, to have this, something familiar. But it wasn’t even close. Dean was just a fucktoy to this guy. A pretty boy to use and then discard. Nothing has changed. He’s still alone. It had been so long since anyone had shown him, through their skin on his, that he mattered, that he was worth something. And Dean knows it will be a long time until that happens again.

Dean slips out of bed and into his clothes, and leaves. When he gets back to the motel, he calls Dad.

Straight to voicemail. “This is John Winchester. Leave a message.”

Dean hangs up before the beep, and the tears are already welling up in his eyes. He wipes them away with the back of his hand and stands up to take a shower, hoping that the hot water that will hide his tears will also wash away his sense of shame and worthlessness.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts and constructive criticism are highly appreciated :)


End file.
